


That Thing Called Fear

by EgoDominusTuus



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Accidental Plot, Cannon Divergence, Child Death, Eventual Smut, Explicit Descriptions, F/M, Gore, Graphic Violence, Human Transformation, Kinda, M/M, Mating, Monster sex, Monsters, Non-Consensual, Other, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Pennywise, Romance, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Slow... clown burn?, Transformation, Violence, deffo some, if monsters can have romance, monster/human, no shame in my clown loving game, novel and film reference, oopse, potentially, unidentified gender, you MONSTER, you stole his deadlight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-02-10 13:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/pseuds/EgoDominusTuus
Summary: Moving into a new town is never easy. Moving into Derry's token haunted house? That's a bit more complicated.When you're a thrill seeker who wants to know what fear really feels like? It's the best decision you've ever made.--AKA: I got dragged into Clown-Porn Hell... but my porn developed a 25k+ word plot to go with it.





	1. Apathy

**Author's Note:**

> So. A warning: I wrote this during NaNoWriMo, because I needed more words. I accidentally got dragged into the whole It/Reader universe somehow. Oopse. I'm posting it so I didn't waste 25,000 words. If it has any interest, I'll keep posting ^_^ Much more Pennywise in the next chapter, obviously.

I'd been this way for as long as I could remember -- it wasn't something that I consciously chose to do. I was apathetic at best, and sometimes I frightened myself with exactly how much I didn't give a shit. I'd been told it was from an infection when I was young - something that had burned away at a part of my brain that allowed me to feel strongly about much of anything, and completely wiped my ability to feel fear. The lack of that particular emotion only made me want to feel it all the more; it made me seek it out.

I was well known; my kid sister had videoed me at one point, skydiving and then cliff jumping. Swimming with sharks. There wasn't a thing that I wouldn't do as I sought out the sensation of fear, ever elusive as it was to me. There wasn't a thing that I wouldn't do to feel something... because something had to be better than the nothing that always filled my head, fuzzy like cotton but sleek like silk in the fact that nothing ever stayed.

Nothing ever fazed me.

Nothing ever really mattered.

It was my thrill seeking that had pushed me into buying the house in Derry. It was my desire for fear that had pushed me into pouring my life savings into renovating the broken down dump. I'd had to bring in outside contractors to do it, because no one in the town would touch it. They were all too frightened to paint the walls of the old house with the well in the basement... too frightened to make it a livable space.

The very fact that they were so afraid was what had drawn me to it. I'd heard that it was haunted, and after a little research, I would have almost believed it. Derry was a place known for frightening things - for disappearances and terror that spread through the community like a wildfire, burning everything in its path and leaving behind the bitter taste of ash.

I'd already tried chasing down that elusive emotion of fear in other places; sanatoriums, graveyards, hotels... but nothing had stuck. Derry was my last hope at stirring up that thing called fear by proxy of someplace haunted.

Honestly, I wasn't sure that I believed in ghosts. I probably would have passed up the opportunity, had the house not been dirt cheap. It was both my last ditch effort and a sign of resignation. I couldn't keep traveling around -- I couldn't keep trying to force myself to feel the impossible.

I was giving up, and I was settling down into a quaint little town so I could just focus on my career; Derry was a great place to write a novel, after all. If nothing else, the little town provided ambiance.

It was funny that I made a passable living writing horror short stories and commissions, since I couldn't really determine what the emotion of fear felt like myself. That was probably why my books were so popular -- I never wrote from the perspective of the victim. Only the villain.

Only the monster, because that was the only thing that I could understand. Their perspective was the one that I could wrap my mind around.

I rode in with the moving truck as the last load of my belongings was dropped off at the house, and my eyes instantly swept over it. I'd paid extra to get a good coat of dark paint on the exterior. Luckily, Derry was such a small town that there was no worry for an HOA that would stop me from having the house a brown so dark that it was almost black. Still, even the painters hadn't been willing to come to the outside of my new home. I'd had to source all of my work from towns over from Derry. I'd had to pay quite a few hundred extra just for the time and effort that it took for them to get here.

Looking at the work that they'd done, I smiled in satisfaction. It was going to be worth it.

"Woah," A voice beside me suddenly spilled out. I twisted my head to check out the two kids beside me, leaning their bikes against the moving truck as they stared up at me in wide-eyed horror. "You're not going in there, are you?"

"Yeah, I am." My voice was apathetic, and I inwardly berated myself for it. I was usually better at giving the facade of emotions than this; I didn’t need the entire town thinking that I was a psychopath before they’d even learned my name. Still, his incredulous impudence was irritating. I arched one brow slowly, "Is there a problem with that?"

"There's no problem, unless you were keen on not dying," One of the boys spoke, pushing up a pair of glasses that were too big for his face, like he’d swiped them from his Dad or something. He smirked at me, but I could see the way that he shivered at he took a sidelong glance at the house. Sure, it had looked like some run-down crack house when I'd bought it... but now it looked like any other house on the street... hell, it looked better than most of the other houses around it.

"Maybe I don't have a problem with that," I hitched the box that I was carrying up and turned away from the two boys — fucking teenagers irritated me to no end, and I silently prayed that they weren’t my neighbors. Wickedness came over me quite instantly. Casually, I glanced back over my shoulder, and my eyes widened slightly, "Or maybe I'm the reason that it was happening to begin with." Cryptic, threatening.

Yeah, a great welcome to the neighborhood — convincing the local children that I was the reason that so many people in Derry went missing. I saw them exchange glances, before the one with the glasses elbowed his fatter friend in the side. They both hopped back on their bikes and sped away, though the young boy cried out a final warning to me as they turned the corner of the streets.

"It's going to get you!"

I rolled my eyes, kicking a rock into the sewage drain in irritation as I did so. "One can only hope."

\---

It didn't take me long to get my things unpacked; the fact was, I didn't have that many worldly possessions. Half of what I did have, I'd sold off before I moved here. I'd put all of my savings into the house, which meant new furniture as well. It was mostly personal things that came along with me in the moving truck, and half of those boxes had been stuffed in the basement for storage. I'd get around to unpacking them when and if I ever felt like it - the most important thing for me to have was my computer and my writing equipment, and that was the first thing that I'd gotten set up in the room I'd claimed as my office.

My eyes swept around the house, and I couldn't help the small trill of appreciation that managed to dart through my senses. I'd barely paid anything for the place, and it was in top form again. Even though I'd had to pay a ton for renovations, it was nowhere near what I would have paid to buy any other house of this quality. I'd checked the homes around Derry; even though the housing market in the area was down, they were all twice as expensive as what I'd ended up putting into my new little abode.

It was perfect. It was a place where I could settle down, where I could learn to forget about putting my life in danger constantly to try to feel something...

_It’s going to get you._

The young boy's words rode sharp through my mind for a moment, but I shrugged them off. Even though I was hoping that there was something here that could elicit the emotion that I was seeking, something that could make me feel _anything_ , I wasn't holding my breath for it. I'd been in the house for a few hours already, and there was nothing frightening about it. Sure, it was weird to be here alone. I'd only ever had studio apartments before, and there had never been any privacy then. There'd always been the sound of neighbors, the rush of the world around me. Now it was all quiet — so quiet that I could hear crickets chirping in the distance outside. It was so quiet that I could hear all of the creaks and groans that an old house made. They were noises that I hadn't heard since I was young and my mother was still alive.

It wasn't comforting, but it certainly didn't scare me. I didn’t even feel nostalgia.

I eyed my new refrigerator warily. I knew for a fact that the only thing I would find in there was ice from the ice maker. I mentally put grocery shopping at the top of my list of things I needed to do in the morning — instead, I pulled out my cell phone and found the nearest delivery place that was still open.

I had to call three different locations before someone would agree to bring me my food — two of them, upon receiving my address, had given me excuses about why they couldn't come to my house. Teenagers, frightened little pissants who were too afraid to even come to my door. It was only the Chinese restaurant that agreed to make sure I didn't starve to death, and only because an elderly male was the one who answered. I wasn't looking forward to the forty-five minute wait, but at least I knew that food was on its way. The delivery boy who came to the door, however, was shaking in his beat-up converse, and when I told him that I had to go grab money out of my bedroom upstairs, he actually shoved the food in my hands and quickly shook his head.

"Hey, on the house, man. Welcome to Derry."

I stared after him wide-eyed as he quickly retreated, running to his car and damn near peeling out to get away from me. A slow smirk quirked the edge of my lips — at least I'd gotten something good out of all of this ridiculous superstition. With a satisfied grin, I headed to the kitchen with my food and spent the next half hour gorging myself on Chinese and soda.

I felt like shit afterward — very full shit... which was pretty much perfect for me, and the goal when ordering out. I'd done enough work for the day, and I was settled into my house. All that I wanted was a good nights sleep and the energy to try to get something done in the morning. I trudged upstairs to my room and collapsed thankfully into my new bed, somewhere aware in the back of my mind that any other person would have been freaking out by now, what with how the entire town was acting.

Anyone else wouldn't have been able to lay their head on their pillow without any apprehension, but I was asleep before I even realized that I needed to get up and turn out the lights.

\---

That night, I had a dream. It wasn't rare for me to dream. It was, however, rare for my body to attempt a Nightmare. It wasn't something that happened often. Occasionally, I'd dream about horror, but I usually only ended up using that horror for my novels. Tonight, I dreamed of a monster in my newly remodeled basement, with eyes that crackled like a campfire and then turned a sweet, liquid blue after a few moments of staring at me. I dreamed of a being whose teeth were rows and rows of razor sharp points encased in full lips that shimmered with spittle, and whose hands ripped open white gloves as claws peeled out of the fabric like a flower bursting the ground in Spring.

I wasn't sure what I was dreaming about; it was all a blur of silver silk and glowing eyes, a tall frame, and fire. But I do know that at the end of my dream, the creature that was stalking me halted and loomed over me. It stared down at me with eyes that were no longer licking orange flames, but instead blue orbs of child-like curiosity and stark interest.

"What are you?"

"What are you?" I echoed the question, but speaking aloud tore me out of my dream and sent me sitting up in my bed. My hand ran through messy hair, and my eyes swept the bedroom around me. The dream had felt real, but my mind was already losing grasp on what I'd been thinking, what I'd seen.

Eyes like flames. That was all that I could remember. Eyes like flames, and I knew that I'd made the right decision in moving here after all — if my mind was already trying to give me nightmares... then maybe, just maybe...

Maybe I'd finally _feel_  something. It was a promising start that sent my heart racing in my chest for the first time in a long, long while.

* * *

 

The people at the grocery store looked at me like I was insane when I asked about delivery to my house so that I didn't have to go out to pick things up constantly. Of course, living at 29 Neibolt Street was apparently the way to make everyone difficult to cooperate with you in any task you required, big or small. I made a mental note of the fact that if I wanted my groceries delivered I was going to have to pay an outrageous fee to someone from the next town over. It wasn't worth it; as much as I wanted to spend my time isolated so that I could write and not have to deal with superstitious assholes, I was clearly going to have to interact with the people in the town.

With my arms laden with grocery bags, I found myself silently cursing the fact that my car hadn't been brought to me yet. One of my old co-workers was driving it to me over the weekend. I knew that they would do it, but being without it for a few days was going to be a pain in the ass. I'd actually bought a damn cart to pull along behind me just so I could have more than two bags of groceries, because the town only carried paper. Stocking my fridge and pantry, however, was more than worth the embarrassment of strolling down the street like a little child.

What was odd, though, was the red balloon that was tied to the sewer grate in front of the house. I took the time to yank the string holding it, popping it loose and letting the balloon float freely in the air. For a few moments, my eyes fixated on it, until the red drifted out of sight.

The image of the balloon was still in my mind as I finished unloading my groceries, snacking on an apple as I went along. I'd have to get to the business of actually making dinner at some point, but left over Chinese food spared me the trouble of having to make lunch. Instead, I spooned cold rice into my mouth, careful not to spill any onto my new carpets, and trekked downstairs. I'd meant to look the prior night, but I'd been too caught up in unpacking and then getting to sleep after I'd eaten — fast food comas were a real, dangerous thing.

I could only assume that the basement was the source of what everyone found to be 'haunted'. I wanted to be afraid as I opened the door and darkness welled back up at me. I knew that I should have felt some kind of slight palpitation in my heart when I stretched out fingers for the light only to have the bulb shoot in a flash like heat lightning. With an exasperated sigh, I turned and grabbed a spare from the hallway closet, and then trudged down the narrow stairway in the pitch dark.

The tinkling of bells told me that I wasn't alone, but I couldn't stop myself from moving forward. I stepped to where I knew the light should be, and I heard a growling sound behind me — growling and bells. Something trilled through my chest, but it wasn't fear.

Excitement, quickly followed by irritation chase its heels. Who was in my fucking house? Why did someone think that it was okay to growl and ring bells in my basement? The noise wasn't animal, but it certainly didn’t sound human. It had a damn near hybrid quality to it. I stretched my hand up in the darkness to grab the bulb, only to feel another hand come over my own, fingers squeezing tight enough that the glass beneath my palm nearly shattered. I turned in the direction that the hand in question had come from, and I saw the eyes from my dream the night before.

Crimson and orange, like a burning flame. My own hues widened, and I felt my breath catch in my chest. I was shocked, to say the least — shocked, but achingly, disappointingly, annoyingly not afraid.

" _What_. Are. **You**?" I heard him snap the words out, language stilted and savage. The voice was male, soft but sweet — the breath that played on my face smelled like cotton candy with an undercurrent of iron that was unmistakably blood. The question, however, was odd.

"Who the fuck are you?" I retorted, and then added quickly, "And why in the hell are you in my house."

"My house. **My house**." He echoed my words, the first a sing-song tone, the second time in a guttural vibration that made me shudder just from the depths of it rocking through me. Whoever he was, he hadn't released my hand so that I could change the bulb and see his face. I only knew where he was because of the halo glow of his eyes. I turned my chin up, knowing that my defiant expression was completely lost in the dark. At least, I thought it was.

"You’re not normal... you're not like the rest of them." I felt jilted movement, heard that jingling noise followed by a snarl again. That blood-coated-cotton-candy breath came closer to me until I could feel the moisture from it. There was another low, snarling growl... but I simply stood impassively in the iron-like grip of the hand that held mine.

I wasn't afraid, but I wasn't stupid. If he crushed the bulb while I held it, I was going to be in a world of hurt. It wasn't the kind of hurt that I was interested in, by any means. Instead, I carefully tried to disengage my hand from his digits, only to have his other arm dart out and grab my wrist, pulling me nearly off of my feet as he lifted me up.

I felt the whiffing sensation of him scenting the air again, like a great big dog trying to catch the trail of something that had just escaped it. His nose worked along my neck, my hair. He pulled upright again, that jingling sound now making me wonder where in the hell he had bells tied to him.

"Who the fuck are you?" I repeated my question again, but I only half got the words out before he snarled and growled in response, lifting me up higher with inhuman strength, until my feet were dangling in the air.

"Different. You're different." And then a pause as though he were trying to gather his thoughts, "My house... and I'm awake too soon." Another pause, and I felt him get close, so close that I could almost feel his lips against my cheek when he spoke. " **Hungry**." It was that guttural voice again that sent shivers rippling through my body for reasons that I couldn’t quite ascertain.

"Sorry, I ate all of the Chinese food." I quipped the snark out even though it probably wasn't a good idea. Still, with those glowing eyes so close to my face and the smell of blood in the air, I couldn't help it. I was on the edge of feeling something, though I didn't know if it was fear. Whatever it was, I wanted to push it out into the open.

He jerked me harder, until my shoulders were screaming in protest, threatening to pop. The fact that he was holding me up so high and I was only just level with his eyes told me that he was tall. Much too tall.

"I'll have to make due… make due." And then he muttered lower to himself, "But what are you? You're broken." He was talking to me, and I had half the mind to tell him that he was full of shit, though the other half of me had to agree with him for the fact that I was letting some psychopath that was potentially the monster that haunted the town hold me up by the wrists without being afraid.

Broken was definitely the word. I was opening my mouth to agree with him when I heard a sound like leather being ripped. Skin splitting.

And then there were lights. They were bright balls of liquid shine, twirling in what took me a moment to realize was a gaping maw. The thing in front of me, because I couldn't even think that it was human anymore, had somehow split its mouth open and was showing me its swirling insides. My heart caught in my throat, and for a moment I felt the edges of something altogether new. It tickled my nerves, made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I was close — so close to something that had evaded me my entire life... it burned along my skin and stole my breath away until I could taste my pulse in the back of my throat and something akin to a whimper attempted to crawl out of my chest.

I heard him snarl in triumph, and those balls danced faster. There were screams accompanying it like a litany to madness. It was his own noise, that snarl, that pulled me from the edge of what I'd almost felt and rocked me back to reality. He'd transferred my wrists into one hand, and the other was behind my neck, pulling me closer to that open mouth full of teeth. My free hand stretched forward, my breath still caught in my chest as my fingers brushed against one of those glowing spheres. There was an electric jolt that slammed through my body, and I suddenly snapped backwards, flying with such force that I wasn't sure if it was from the glowing light or him throwing me. The bulb above that had been seemingly shot flickered on and to life. I got my first look at the creature that had held me, just as those dancing orange eyes flickered to a sky blue. The seams of his jaws were latching back together, like a doll that had been split in two but was made to fit back as a whole.

He wasn't a monster though.

And he wasn't a man.

He was _a goddamn clown,_ and he was staring at me as though he'd never seen a human before. I couldn't catch my breath; my arm was numb from the fingertips up, and the wind had been knocked out of me from my impact against the wall. He moved in a blur of motion that was hard to track, and suddenly he was in my face again, the collar of his suit jingling.

"What. Are. You?" He stilted the words out again, and this time I had to ask myself the same question.

"Broken." I barely managed to croak the word out and then I felt unconsciousness creeping at the edge of my vision - I only had the fact that he wasn't all teeth anymore as a comfort. He wasn't going to eat me — at least, I didn't think he was.

From the way that he was looking at me and the fact that those white, gloved hands were stretching towards me, I knew that I could have been wrong.  _Dead wrong._

As I passed out, irritation crept at the edge of my senses. I'd almost felt it; I knew I had. I'd almost felt fear, but then those lights had been too beautiful. Far too beautiful... the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. How could I have possibly been afraid after that?


	2. Fascination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely a giant monster-clown was a dream, wasn't it? Since he's standing in the corner of the room, the answer is probably no. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Thank you to the positive response so far <3 as long as you guys are enjoying it and letting me know, I'll keep on keepin' on!

I woke with a start, jerking up and feeling air rush into my lungs as though I hadn't taken a breath since the moment that I'd fainted. I wanted to think that it had all been a really fucked up dream. I was in my bed — I could feel the cool sheets on my bare arms. The fact that I was still in my clothes, though, was one thing that told me it wasn't.

The fact that I felt like I'd been hit by a truck — or more aptly, thrown into the wall by some kind of monster-clown — was another little reminder of what had happened. I brought my hand up and instantly saw that the the tips of my fingers were blackened, and that blackness crept upward and to my veins, spilling to my elbow.

"What the fuck?"

"Fuck. Fuck... what the fuck." A voice echoed me, and I instantly snapped my head towards the corner of my room. Affirmation - complete and utter confirmation to the fact that I hadn't been dreaming. The clown was there, crouched in the corner like some predator ready to pounce. I had the feeling that he would have, had I gotten up and tried to run. Instead, I took the time to switch on the lamp beside my bed and pushed my sleeve up further, staring at the veins that trickled nearly up to my shoulder, pulsing with some inner darkness.

"What did you do to me?" I breathed the words out in slow accusation, my eyes fixating on his form. His own gaze was still blue. He looked at me like a cat would look at a mouse beneath its paws. Toying, but curious. I frowned at him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Pennywise," he took the time to stand up, throwing both hands out to the side in a sweeping bow that ended in a jerking movement that sent those bells to chime again. "The Dancing Clown."

"Of course you are," I muttered my response out. There was still a good chance that I was hallucinating, or having a very vivid dream... because the thought that the monster that haunted Derry was a fucking clown was ridiculous. It was even more so since he seemed absolutely frivolous, standing in my corner in his silver suit with his bells chiming.

Still, I could sense the air of danger coming off of him. I could see it in the way that his full lips snarled, the lower pout slicked with saliva that made his mouth glisten in the low light. He took a step forward, his arms moving in tandem with the sway of his legs so that they shifted from side to side. He didn't stop the uncanny strut until he was at the edge of my bed. Long fingers wrapped around the foot board, and he was so tall that when he leaned forward he was almost within reach of me.

"Why aren't you afraid?" He snapped the words out sharp and crisp, and for a moment another orange flicker shot through his eyes. It quickly dispelled when I answered him levelly.

"I don't know how." Truth. Even if I was just dreaming, I'd tell him the truth. After all, what harm would it do? I had a strange feeling that he couldn't hurt me.   
Of course, I'd seen his teeth, so I knew he was perfectly capable of doing so if he so chose.

Thinking of those teeth made me think of the lights. Thinking of the lights made me bring up my blackened hand so that I could thrust it in front of his face. My fingers still worked to open and close, but they ached. Moving them sent a tingling sensation through my entire frame.

"What did you do to me?" I repeated my question and stared hard at him for a moment, and then sat back and actually had to suppress a giggle. "For fucks sake, I can't believe I'm having a conversation with a clown. This is ridiculous." I brought my hand forward, a few inches in front of my face. "I need to wake up."

"Not asleep. You aren't dreaming. And you touched the deadlights." He looked frustrated again, snarling for a moment so that those almost cute buck teeth turned into fangs. "You didn't float."

"Of course I didn't, I'm not a balloon." And then after a beat, "Deadlights?"

He stared at me for a moment, and I thought he wasn't going to answer. When he did, his voice was a lower growl, unlike the light, jovial tone that he seemed to prefer to use. "They should have blinded you. Should have broken you... but they didn't." His eyes snapped rapt to my fingers, and he moved in such a quick motion that I couldn't stop him. He took my digits into his mouth and sucked hard on my blackened skin. I felt a completely inhuman tongue wrap around them and lick for a moment — it drew a hard shiver from my body, and an involuntary moan that thankfully caught in my throat. When he pulled back, they were red. For a moment, it flickered like blood, and then it gave a quick, glowing shine of dazzling orange and faded back to black. That light though - I recognized the light.

It was the same light that had been in his mouth.

"You stole my Deadlight." He spoke the words in half accusation, half confusion. His hand came forward and he touched my skin again - it flared red where his white glove brushed, and I could feel heat bubbling against my flesh like energy begging to be released. I had no idea how to give it what it wanted though, and I couldn't jerk back from him because I had a feeling that sudden movements wouldn't do me a damn bit of good. He radiated caged danger, like the lions that I'd seen caged at the zoo — pacing back and forth, back and forth. I'd known then without a doubt that they would have eaten anyone they could have gotten their teeth around, if given the chance.

The thing atop of me was the same, and he was very much on top of me, slinking slowly onto the bed until he straddled me with his long, lanky legs and his arms were on either side of my head. I had a moment to think that there was a slender strength to the frame atop me before words bubbled from my throat.  
"I didn't mean to steal you light?" I spoke the word softly. I should have been afraid, and my mind kept telling me that. Either this was the weirdest dream ever, or I really was being assaulted by some monster-clown. The way my body ached though told me that I wasn’t asleep, and the fact that I could still remember the warmth of those lights as they danced in front of me with a near longing was even further proof.

"Why aren't you afraid?" He asked the question again, only this time he was a few inches from my face and his voice held scorching heat in that proximity. He was close enough that I could smell blood and cotton candy again - sugar and iron. It wasn't a completely unpleasant smell; it made me feel heady.

"I told you, I don't know how to be." His blue eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth again, revealing those teeth as he hissed at me as though he couldn't wrap his head around my words. In defiance, I furrowed my brows and continued. "When I was little, I got sick. Really sick. Sick enough that the fever fucked with my head. All of my emotions are pretty screwed up.” It was strange, I didn’t explain this to many people at all, and here I was spilling my guts to a clown — of course, I didn’t want him to spill them for me… so. I continued, “I have no memories of being afraid..." I looked up at him, and his blue eyes were widening in further curiosity, as though he was processing what I was saying one syllable at a slow time. "I don't know what fear feels like, so you’d have to tell me before I could even begin to understand it."

"Cold. Wet like old blood on your skin, until you taste it on your tongue. Then it's warm and kicking all the way down, while the screams tickle your throat." He answered without missing a beat, and my eyes widened.

He was telling me how fear felt, but not from the feeling end. No - he wasn't telling me how it felt... he was telling me how it tasted.

"What are you?" I breathed the question out, and I wished that I hadn't sounded so fascinated. I was blaming it on those damn lights, because I could still see them dancing behind my eyes, almost swirling inside of his head. I could imagine them, just beneath his skin, bright and orange. Only now, one of them flickered a little less; one of them was a bit darker than the others. The one that I'd touched.

"I am fear. I am a Destroyer. I am," and he jerked his head in a quick motion again, jingle-jingling at me as he did so. "Pennywise. The Dancing Clown." Only this time there was no fluid dance motion with it. There was just him, close enough that I could smell old blood clinging to his clothes. Close enough that I could see the white pallor of his clown makeup wasn't just makeup, but the tone of his skin.

"You aren't a very funny clown." I murmured the words out, but I shifted forward in fascination, my hand coming up slowly. His eyes shifted, the gaze splitting apart so that they weren't even looking in the same direction. One shifted to my face, the other to my moving limb. I didn't want to shift too quickly — just because I wasn't afraid didn't mean I wanted my arm bitten off.

Logic and fear, thankfully, weren't seated in the same house when it came to what I'd lost and what I hadn't. Still... temptation was something that I couldn't contain very well. My desire to feel things, my unwavering drive to know was something that I couldn't escape. My hand touched his cheek, and I shuddered - he felt cold. He twitched beneath my touch, his mouth opening just enough that I could see his sharp teeth flash a threat at me. He growled low under his breath, but he didn't stop me when I flattened my palm against his face, cupping his painted cheek as I did so. My thumb brushed at the white color, and when I drew my hand away and looked at my skin, my earlier thoughts were confirmed. It wasn't paint.

"This is impossible." My voice was soft and hushed, and he didn't move above me.

"Im~possible?" He drew the word out slowly, his head tilting like a predator sizing up its prey. "Impossible, but here you are. Mmm, no. Here we are. Impossible, because you should be floating." He turned his head to look at my hand that still hovered by his face, and then he intentionally leaned against my blackened digits so that they burned and flared orange-red again. "You stole my Deadlight. You're in my house." His eyes shifted to me, snapping back together to focus rapt attention on my features. His next words sent a chill through me — almost fear. At least, I thought it was.

"That makes you mine."

 


	3. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have to wonder what he is... and you have to wonder what happened to you. Of course, only he knows the answer to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken so long O_O I've been so distracted with a teething 6 month old. I should be around more often! Look for more frequent updates! And thank you guys SO much for the comments and kudos. It keeps me going... and it's inspired some major clown-smuttery a few chapters ahead.

_That makes you mine._

  
The words rang through my head again, and I couldn't stop my breath from catching in my chest. I didn't belong to anyone, let alone some clown-creature. Still, the image of those lights behind my eyes was enough to bite back the snappish reply that I would have instantly thrown out. I lay silently beneath him for a moment, careful not to move, and careful not to tempt him into motion.

Finally, I drew in a slow breath and attempted to sit up in the bed. He didn't stop me, but he didn't move. I only made it a few inches before I was face to face with him -- a few inches before I realized that I wasn't going to be able to get up at all unless I pressed myself against him. I wasn't sure that I was willing to do that.

"Well, the house is mine, because I paid for it." He shook his head back and forth in such rapid succession that his bells jingled again in an audible representation of his disdain.

"I've been here for centuries. No human contract makes it yours. You've seen my Well -- this house is mine, and all of the sewer beneath it. All of the depths of Derry. Mine." My brows furrowed. The sewer, with that damn red balloon that had come out of it. Had that been his doing?

"You live in the sewer?" I wrinkled my nose, half tempted to tell him to get off of me until he took a shower. Or, you know, to get off of me altogether. I didn't know how well he was going to take to my demand though, and I had full intentions of getting out of this alive. Still, there was a part of me that was beating and burning with some emotion that I’d never felt before, and a part of me that couldn't help but to be drawn to what was happening. This was the closest thing that I'd come to feeling anything like this. He was the closest I'd come to ever feeling anything at all. I stared up at him with wide eyes as he tilted his head, orange hair wild as he did so.

"Mmm, yes. Beneath Derry. It's the best place to make my home. It's the best place to hide, and to rest. No one comes to the sewer," and then his eyes bled that crimson again and he finished his words, "Usually."

I could tell that the pointed usually added onto the end meant that someone had, once upon a time. They'd come to the sewer and they'd pissed him off. Still, who lived in the damn sewer to begin with?

"Seems like you needed this house even more than I did." I attempted to slide myself a little further up, and felt the silk of his costume brushing against me. It was softer than I’d thought it would be. He kept a careful eye on me, as though waiting for me to run.

"It's still mine. Everything in it is mine." He kept his eyes fixed pointedly on me, and I groaned. Sitting up wasn't working. Instead, I slid back down and started to scoot to the side, wriggling out from beneath him slowly. He stayed poised over me in an almost comical position, but I had a feeling that he could have dropped down on me and pinned me at any moment. There was nothing comical about his proximity. He was so close, and even though his face had been cool I could feel the warmth spilling off of him in palpable waves that filled the air with the scent of sugar and rust. It was oddly nice.

The fact that I was finding it oddly nice was enough to alarm me. Just because he was making my brain react in new ways didn't mean that I had any reason to be drawn to a damn clown.

My eyes fixated for a moment on his full lips, shiny with saliva and hiding that dangerous smile. Yeah… no reason at all.

I decidedly slid another few inches from beneath him, even though I could tell that I was playing with fire by moving at all. The lack of fear was a useful thing, because it stopped me from having the common sense to stay still. It seemed like he realized that as well, because as I made my final roll and spilled ungracefully onto the floor, he shifted suddenly to sit on my bed cross-legged, staring down at me with confusion on his face.

"You aren't afraid of me at all?" It was a question, but I could tell that he knew it to be true. He was saying the words more to taste them on his tongue, strange and foreign as they were. From the floor, with all of the grace that I could muster, I shrugged.

"If I knew how to, I'm sure I would be."

"If you were, you'd be dead."

Somehow, I knew that he wasn't lying. My lack of emotion, the thing that I'd been furious about my entire life, had somehow saved me tonight. He gave a soft scent to the air again with nostrils flaring, and his eyes narrowed, that orange and crimson burst of color engulfing the blue hues. "You smell like something else though - something warm and..." He licked his lips then, slowly, "Wet."

My eyes widened, and I pushed myself up from the floor in as smooth of a motion as I could manage. I wasn't going to sit there vulnerable while he looked like he wanted to eat me. "Probably my perfume," I spoke nonchalantly and took a step towards the bathroom door. Locking myself in the bathroom probably wouldn't help me all that much, but I needed some distance between me and him. I needed to feel, for a minute, like I wasn't going crazy and hallucinating a clown in my bedroom. I needed to pretend that I was a normal human being who would have ran screaming from the bedroom from the get-go. His voice almost stopped me in my tracks as he continued speaking, the cadence turning to a purring growl.

"It's beneath your skin, all hot and untouched. You're different." He spilled up from the bed, and I took another slow step towards the bathroom. I wasn't going to run -- running would be a bad idea. But I wasn't sure that I wanted to know what he was smelling on me at all, because I had a faint idea of what it might be, and I didn't want to think about it. To go from having almost no emotions to this was...

Well...

Different.

He'd hit the nail on the head with his assessment, but I wasn't in the mood to let him be right. Instead, I took another slow step back, not turning my back on him as I did so. He advanced a step for every step that I retreated, and I realized that the few feet between us were quickly going to deplete, what with the fact that his legs were so much longer than mine. With a blank smile, I took another step and put my hands behind my back to find the doorknob to the bathroom.

"If I smell, I should really take a shower. So, if you'll excuse me." I twisted the handle and whirled myself into the bathroom in a smooth motion, and felt an instant wave of relief cross through me when I clicked on the bright lights. My thumb pressed the lock and I put my back to the door for a moment, closing my eyes and sighing. I felt like I was going crazy, but there was no denying that something had happened to me — something changed inside of me. My blackened fingers that seemed to sing when I touched Pennywise told me as much.

For a few moments, I kept my eyes shut and tried to sort through the sudden flood of emotions that was pouring into my mind. It was strange, because it was a bigger burst than anything that I'd felt for as long as I could remember, and I knew that it had to do with the fact that there was a strange clown-monster in my bedroom and something really fucked up had happened to my arm. There was a pulsing sensation coming from my skin, tingling up along my shoulder and into my neck. If I didn't know any better, I would almost say the feelings were originating from the blackened tips of my fingers.

That was impossible though.

I wasn't sure what in the Hell I was doing anymore -- I'd moved to this house because I'd thought that maybe, just maybe there was something to the town being haunted. My thrill-seeking ways wouldn't allow me to do anything else. And yet, I hadn't really expected to find anything. Maybe what I was feeling was the direct opposite of disappointment.

Maybe what I was feeling had something to do with those glowing orange orbs that I could almost still feel calling to me.

Whatever my expectations had been, I'd realistically thought I'd just finally found a house that I could settle into, a place where I could give up on trying so hard to change the things that I couldn't and instead buckle down on my writing career. I made decent money with my horror fiction, but I wanted to be published. I wanted to be a household name. I couldn't do that while I was chasing dreams of feeling things like every other person in the world.

I sighed and opened my eyes, half expecting to see Pennywise standing there. He wasn't though; the shower was bright blue tile and overhead lighting. I took a moment to appreciate the remodeling and then stepped forward, pushing the stopper firmly down on the drain and turning on the bath. A good soak was exactly what I needed; maybe it would make my fingers turn back to a normal color.

Somehow, I doubted it.

 

* * *

 

  
Ten minutes later, my bath was full and covered in bubbles and I was sliding into it with a soft sigh of relief. The moment that my hand touched the water, I let out a low hiss. It didn't hurt exactly, but it didn't feel good either. It was strange, it made me feel like I was bubbling beneath my skin, and I quickly jerked my hand back above the water. The black hadn't shifted at all, but it felt like it had spread upward... and sure enough, the darkened veins had trickled so that they were above my elbow. I rested my arm carefully on the white porcelain of the bathtub's edge and stared at it for a moment.

"What happened to me..." I frowned. I certainly couldn't go into town looking like this — I had intended to see about getting a part-time job (the stories about not quitting your day job until you made it big as a writer were true.) Unless I had on long sleeves and a glove, I wasn't so sure that was a good idea anymore. The last thing that I needed was the people here thinking that I was strange. I couldn't really get out of this house now that I'd sunk all of my savings into it.

Honestly, I wouldn't have, even if I could have. Even if it was strange, and even if I felt like I might have been going slightly insane, there was no way that I was going to give up these newfound emotions that were surging through me.

Instead, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to sink up to my chin in bubbles. It was just a coincidence that they smelled like cotton candy.

An odd dripping sound caught my attention. I let a low curse spill from my chest for the fact that my tap was already leaking. When I opened my eyes though, I actually felt a reflexive startle. Not even an inch from my face was the clown. He was staring at me with bright blue eyes, and his orange hair was slicked wet as though he'd come up from the damn tub drain to haunt me. His makeup, I noticed, hadn't run at all. It further solidified in my mind the fact that it wasn't really paint. I took a second to stare at him, and another second to make sure that I was covered in bubbles, and then I raised my head enough that I wouldn't get soap in my mouth when I spoke.

"What are you doing in here?" I meant to sound more outraged, but I couldn't help the odd fascination that was pouring through me. Again, I'd almost felt some hint of emotion that I couldn't put my finger on. And again, my fingers twitched and spasmed to reach out to him, my skin almost glowing from beneath the blackness at his proximity.  
I really did have a haunted house. I couldn't help the smile that spread across my lips, but I instantly tried to stamp it down; I didn't need him getting the wrong idea and thinking that I was happy that he'd intruded on my bath time.

Even though I was completely amused and more than just a little enthralled with the situation, it didn't mean that I wanted him to think that barging in on me whenever he felt like it was okay.

There was no graceful way for me to slide out of the bathtub though, and I hadn't had a bathtub in years; studio apartments came with very small showers. I wasn't going to give up my first bubble bath since I was a pre-teen just because he'd decided it was a good idea to creep on me. Sometimes being damn near emotionally dead could be useful.

"You could go back to your sewer now, you know?"

Even wet, his suit managed to jingle when he jerked forward until I could smell the blood on his breath again, an iron undercurrent that made me swallow hard.

"Why? You're here. I could hear you calling for me." His eyes drifted for a moment from my face to my arm. I wanted to protest that I hadn't called him, but the fact was... maybe I had. That odd, tingling sensation in my blackened limb wasn't something that I'd done on purpose, after all. Of course, if I was going to summon a giant clown every time I got my fingers wet, I was going to have to be a little more careful about how I wet my skin.

"Because it's rude to intrude on someone's bath?" I had a feeling that he had zero shits to give about being insulting, though. Instead, I sat up just a little higher, keeping everything from my collarbone down submerged in bubbles and silently thanking the fact that I'd had such a large tub put in.

"It's rude to wake up the sleeping as well." His eyes flickered to my hand again, and he picked it up without warning me. I tried to jerk it away, but his fingers clasped tight on my wrist and an involuntary gasp poured from my throat. The tingling turned into a burn that pulsed through my entire body with each thrumming beat of my heart. It actually rocked me back for a moment, forced me to close my eyes and gulp in a mouthful of bubbles. Behind my lids, I could see his Deadlights, and the one that was fractured pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

"You stole my Deadlight." He repeated his accusation. I didn't open my eyes to answer though.

"If you're so protective of them, why did you open your mouth in the first place."

"To make you float." His voice was a low growl when he spoke those words.

I had no idea what he meant by that, but clearly, it hadn't worked. I pointedly looked to the fact that I was sitting in a tub, not floating anywhere, and then back to him. The phrase poking the bear drifted through my mind, but I didn't care. He seemed completely nonplussed by my reaction though, and instead gave my wrist another squeeze.  
"Humans aren't meant for the Deadlight." He leaned in close, his tongue sliding out and licking at my palm again, eliciting a shudder from me that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way that it made my nerves burn. He spoke with his mouth still on my hand; I could feel the razor sharp teeth, even though he still had that bucktoothed smile, "I think it's why you're turning Dark."

Turning Dark was one way to phrase it, that was for sure. My blackened fingers didn't look like a burn. It looked like I'd dipped my digits into paint that was a darker color than anything anyone had ever seen before. I pulled my wrist again and he finally let me go, though his tongue licked along the line of my pulse again as I went. I dipped it back into the water without thinking, and bit on my cheek hard enough to draw blood when that stinging sensation ripped through me at the first contact of moisture. It only lasted for a few moments though, and then it faded away. The blackness didn't spread up further.

"Can I finish my bath, please?" I ignored what he said completely, because it was clear that he had no idea of what had happened any more than I did. I wanted to tell him that he had no right to come around and ruin everything... but was it really ruined?

I was feeling things for the first time. I’d actually got exactly what I wanted.

"Go ahead?" He slinked backward, folding himself into a sitting position at the foot of my tub. My eyes narrowed at him, and he actually let out a laugh that was both wicked and infectious all at once, until a smile pulled at the edge of my lips. "Seriously, Pennywise." I used the ridiculous name that he'd given me, and he continued to grin. "I need some private time."

Private time -- I'd moved into a haunted house, how in the hell did I expect to get private time. Of course, a haunted house... was that really what it was?

He didn't seem like a ghost.

He didn't seem like a spirit.

He'd called himself a Destoryer. What exactly did that mean?

Still, he didn't move from the foot of the tub, and those eyes were focused on me as I sat there beneath my bubbles. I was suddenly very happy for the fact that I'd poured them into the water. I wasn't really pleased with my choice of scent... but beggars couldn't be choosy.

"Come on." I gestured at him and then pointed to the door. Not that he really needed to take the door... he'd just appeared in here, after all. I finally couldn't help myself. "Or at least tell me how in the Hell you got into here with the door closed." I spoke again, my voice soft, "What are you?"

He opened his mouth, and before he spoke, I added on, "More than what you told me before. What's a Destoryer." He brought himself up short, and I knew that he'd been about to give me the same answer.

Now, he had to think about it. I had to wonder, had anyone actually taken the time before to ask him these questions? Or had everyone just found themselves too terrified to answer at all, because I knew that was the emotion that he should have been eliciting.

I completely understood why people were afraid of my house.

 


	4. Eventualities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise has a lesson to teach you - eventually, everything floats.
> 
> \---
> 
> I had to break this part into two bits, so the other part of this chapter will be coming in a few days!

I'd heard some pretty far-fetched things before, but listening to a story about a turtle and a clown was the strangest shit I'd ever sat through. Still, Pennywise did exactly as I asked... and he told me about what he was. He told me that he'd been in Derry for a long, long while now. It was his favorite place, his hunting ground.

I should have been more horrified than I was at the aspect that he was killing children -- I wasn't sure if it was my apathy or some influence that his presence had on me, but the pulsing in my arm filled my head with cotton candy saccharine, and I found that I honestly didn't care one way or another what happened to the people in the town. I didn't know them. This wasn't a place full of people that I'd grown up around.

This wasn't really my home.

"It's your home now." He amended, and I threw him a dirty glance.

"Either you're reading my thoughts or my face. Regardless of which it is, stop it." I scowled at him. A part of my mind was completely aware of the fact that I was displaying some true traits of insanity. I was taking this all in stride, as though it wasn't something that should have horrified me. Even without the terror, it was odd. I could only blame the mark on my arm, the pulsing black that flared like dying embers of a campfire caught in the wind whenever he was close -- I could only blame the damn Deadlight that seemed to have somehow found itself deep-seated in the part of my mind where my conscience and sanity were housed. Somehow, it had found that empty place where my emotions should have been and taken root.

I didn't know if it was a good thing, but I couldn't complain. After all, if I'd have been worried about all of this I would have either had to move or go crazy.

Or been eaten by a ravenous clown... there was always that option.

The fact that I'd sat in a bubble bath and been told about basically good and evil manifest was enough to make me laugh -- the fact that it was evil who was telling me about it was even better. I shook my head, still giggling slightly.

"Why do you laugh?" His eyes were that glittering blue again, and I shrugged slightly, starkly aware of the fact that my bubbles were dissipating and soon I wouldn't have my make-believe barrier between me and him.

"This entire situation is ridiculous. And I need to get out of this tub before I turn into a prune." I gave him a pointed glance. He stared at me in return, his face deadpan, his irises drifting apart from one another. I sat in the water for another few moments and then let a long and very pointed sigh escape me before muttering to myself. "Fine. I'm not sitting in cold water." I pushed myself up and out of the tub as quickly as I could, my mind holding just enough modesty to realize that the bubbles didn't cling to me like they would on television, covering up all of the essentials. No, I was bare in front of the damn clown, and the jingling of his bells and sudden jerk of his body let me know that I had his rapt attention.

I stepped over the edge of the tub as quickly as I could, and instantly regretted the motion; I slid on the floor, mentally cursing the fact that I hadn't realized there was no bath mat. I tumbled in a quick downward jerk, trying to catch the edge of the sink and failing miserably -- a low curse escaped my chest and I hit the floor hard. My head smacked against the tile, and I had a moment of nausea washing over me that threatened to churn up the contents of my stomach.

And then Pennywise was there, crouched over me like a lion that had just taken down its prey. I could see those sharp teeth glittering in his mouth again, but his eyes were flicking to the cut that was on my head. I brought one hand up slowly, touching it. Something jolted through me as soon as the blood hit the blackened tips of my fingers. A low scream crawled its way from my chest -- pain ripped through me in a white hot blaze that stole the breath before my cry could be uttered. Not my arm, or even my shoulder. My stomach roared to life, cramping hard as though I hadn't had anything to eat in weeks. It made me double over, incapable of stopping the motion even though it curled me around Pennywise, who still lurked atop me. I scrambled, grabbing at the tile and somehow finding his torso instead. There was a small voice in the back of my mind that told me clutching onto a child-murdering alien-creature was idiotic.

There was a larger part of me that felt as though my body was trying to split into two, and I couldn't stop my arms from squeezing tight and my face from burying into the silky material of his costume, so that my nose was flooded with the scent of cotton candy, popcorn, and blood.

For a few moments, I squirmed and writhed against his frame as my body seemed to try to eat itself from the inside out. I wasn't sure how much time passed, though I know the eternity that seemed to take up my time was only a product of my agony.

Slowly, the pain faded, the cramps receding to something tolerable. I realized that Pennywise had curled himself around me just as much as I had him and that long tongue was licking at the split flesh right below my hairline, lapping up my blood like an obedient little puppy.

"Fuck." I breathed the word out softly, unsure if it would be wise to make a sudden movement. I honestly wasn't sure if I had the strength to put up much of a struggle, anyway. Instead, I laid in the circle of his arms with my grip now limp on him, and took in slow and even breaths as I tried to wrap my head around what had just happened.

Something had triggered my body to go into spasms, and I knew that it had to do with the blackened fingers that graced my hand. I didn't know if it was the fact that I'd been wounded, or that I'd touched it. I just couldn't be certain, and it wasn't a situation that I was willing to repeat in order to discover the answer. If I could go the rest of my life without it happening again, I'd be content with never knowing.

"Are you having fun there?" My voice came out lower than I meant for it to. His tongue was soft against the cut, and it was all heat and a tickling sting of pain. It wasn't a completely unpleasant feeling.

"You already taste different." He murmured the words out, his full lips brushing my flesh and smearing blood up into my hair.

"Why would I taste different?" The fact that we were casually talking about how my blood tasted while he licked my head wasn't lost on me, but for some reason, I couldn't get myself past the exhaustion from the pain that I'd just felt in tandem with the nearly soothing sensation of him licking my head.

He was silent, though, as if he simply didn't feel like giving me an answer. The only sound was the soft wetness of his tongue working on my skin and the low intake of his breath as it bounced against my hair and skin. Worse, I was starting to feel tiredness sweeping over me. It wasn't something that I had any control over, and I had to wonder if him licking my head had something to do with it. I meant to ask him more, but when I opened my mouth, nothing but an exhausted sigh escaped me. I let my eyes slide shut, aware of the fact that falling asleep in the arms of a child-murdering clown could have easily been construed as one of the least intelligent things that I’d done since moving here. Honestly, I didn't care. For the first time in a long time, I was feeling something new.

I felt... peace.

—

I wasn't sure where I was when I woke. I could remember being on the bathroom floor, and I remembered Pennywise holding me tight against his body while he licked my wound and the motion lulled me into sleep. But, I wasn't in the bathroom anymore -- I was somewhere soft and warm. For a few moments, I tried to process why I felt so comfortable, and then I realized that I wasn't in the soft-warm place alone. There were long arms around me, and lanky legs were thrown over my own as though to assure that I didn't somehow escape. I was wrapped in the baggy, silver-silk of a clown costume.

My eyes fluttered open quickly, and I jerked slightly; my vision was filled with halos of blue -- Pennywise, not sleeping, but staring intently at my face as though he was trying to see some secret beneath my skin.

For a few moments, all that I could see was his face, the paint there not capable of detracting from the weirdly handsome planes of the features beneath. The longer I looked, the more that I could see those orange lights dancing somewhere behind his skin like I was somehow seeing through him. I would have reached out to touch them, but my arms were pinned to my side by his grip, and I could tell that he had no intention of letting me loose.

Instead, I looked around. We weren't in my bedroom, which was where I'd initially assumed he would have taken me. I was wrapped in a sheet from my bed, but I was somewhere dark and dank and wet -- somewhere cold, with a clutter of mess around me. The fact that I was on something soft was shocking, because it didn't seem the place to worry about the luxury of comfort. The refuse scattered about made me half-worry that the mattress that we were on had come out of a pile of garbage, but it smelled oddly clean for our surroundings, so I hoped that it wasn't. After all, I'd just taken a bath.

I stretched slowly, testing to see if his vise-like grip would loose at all. There was no give though, so instead, I took a deep breath and spoke. "Where are we?"

"Beneath." For a moment my brows furrowed at how cryptic he was, but then I remembered how he spoke of living beneath my house. We were in the sewers.

I was inside of a box of some sort, so I hadn't been able to completely look around before. Now that I was aware of my location, I could see a giant drain pipe running along one wall, and the scent of wet-mustiness suddenly made sense.

"Why are we here? My bedroom was clean." I only sounded a little irritated. Mostly, my voice was filled with curiosity. He was a giant, child-eating clown who lived in the sewers of a city that he'd been terrorizing for years and years. It didn't make much sense, but for some reason, I wasn't in disbelief.

Instead, I pushed gently against him again, my curiosity growing more and more with each passing second. "Let me up, I want to look around."

He stared at me for a moment as though debating whether he would grant my request. After a few seconds, however, he released all but my arm - that he kept long and slender fingers around. I could see the blackened flesh, glowing a perfect orange underneath his touch. Pennywise seemed unwilling to release that particular bit of me, but I knew that I'd done better than I'd hoped, getting him to let me go at all. I'd have to settle.

I pushed myself up, gripping the sheet around me and making a mental note that I was going to have to buy new ones, since this one was getting covered in sewer muck. My free and unblackened fingers came up to my head; the wound felt like it was days old, which sent a jolt of alarm through me.

"How long was I asleep?"

Pennywise tilted his head, clearly curious about the note of unhappiness in my voice. "Hours. Seven or eight." My brows furrowed at the answer, my fingers gliding over the cut in another sweep. I hadn't been wrong. It felt like it was days old, not just a few hours. My eyes flashed to the clown beside me, dimly illuminated in the light of the sewer, though his eyes were still brilliant halos.

"How does this work then?" His eyes drifted to my finger, to my wound, and he shrugged in a jilty motion, making those bells ring again.

"You healed." He said it as though the answer was obvious. I opened my mouth to retort that I wanted a better explanation, and he jerked again, this time bringing his eyes in rapt attention to my own. "Your arm was glowing then, too. Deadlights are a powerful thing."

The lights; the dancing lights and the one fractured one. Whatever had happened when I'd touched it was making things more than a little crazy. I was suspicious of the fact that they had something to do with me taking this even more in stride than I would have usually. It was already hard to get me riled up about things, excited or otherwise. But I was staring at a serial killer and experiencing things that no human should have been experiencing... and I wasn't bothered by it.

I was intrigued. I felt drawn to Pennywise, and I wondered how much of it was me and how much of it was the pull of the light that I'd fractured, trying to make its way back home.

Only, I wasn't sure that there was a way for me to give the light back to him -- I hadn't meant to break it in the first place, after all. I didn't understand what had happened enough to reverse it.

He crawled out of the cart with me, and I had a moment of twisting around to see that it was a circus prop with his name emblazoned across the top of it... and then my eyes shifted around to what else surrounded us.

Bones -- small bones, all over the ground. I couldn't mistake the fact that they were human, and that they were far too tiny to be adults. I opened my mouth to say something, but my eyes shifted upward. There weren't many, but above us floated bodies. Maybe a half dozen -- my brows furrowed.

He'd wanted to make me float; was this what he'd meant?

Again, my eyes shifted to the piles littering the ground, and then to the ones above us. What I meant to say was that it was horrific, that he was a murderer and he needed to take me back up to my house and leave me the fuck alone. Instead, something else came out of my mouth.

"Looks like you're running a little low, aren't you?" I actually snapped my mouth shut hard enough to make my teeth click as soon as the question came out — what in the fuck was wrong with me?

His hues, shifting to that emblazoned orange, jerked upward He let out a low, guttural growl of infuriation that made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It seemed to be a point of contention with him, the fact that those bones were on the ground instead of drifting above us and perpetually preserving body parts like some morbid refrigerator. I wanted to be horrified, but I was too wrapped up in fascination — how did it work? How in the hell were they even floating to begin with?

"So much spoiled when I was forced to slumber before it was time. So much wasted. Again." He seemed infuriated by the fact; I could feel it as claws spilled from his white gloves and began to prod and poke at my blackened, ember-kissed flesh. I let out a small sound because my own fingers were contorting reflexively, the nail beds burning and aching as though they wanted nothing more than to fall away and turn into claws themselves.

It was like my arm wanted to become the same kind of monster that he was since the Deadlight couldn't return to its master. I felt his fury sweep through me and make my face hot, my head warm. I almost growled, but instead, I shook my head -- that wasn't going to happen. It was physically impossible. At least, I was fairly certain that it was.

But with Pennywise clutching at my darkened skin and the light beneath it glowing all the brighter for the desire to join him in his fury, I had to admit that I wasn't so sure of anything anymore. Even of exactly how human I really was.

—  
  
It was almost overwhelming, but I couldn't quite make myself feel the horror of it. Instead, I explored around the room, my head peeking into the large pipes that led out in different directions. "Do you roam the entire sewer system?" My voice came out in soft curiosity. I'd had to give him a few moments earlier to get over his anger at the bones on the ground, but after a bit, his eyes had cooled again to blue and I knew that I could question him.

"Oh, yes. It makes hunting so easy. All of the trash of Derry circles the drains and comes home to me." His eyes shifted behind us, to the bodies in the air and he continued, "Eventually, everything floats."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Thank you all so much for your continued support. This story is starting to pick up to the actual... hrm... juicier bits. >:) I hope y'all are ready!


	5. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT is everything you've ever wanted, but did you really want it this way?
> 
> \---
> 
> <3 You guys are so amazing with your comments and kudos. It really fuels my ability and drive to write, so thank you so much! Things in this story are about to get very interesting >:)

I think that Pennywise would have kept me in the sewer for the rest of the night if I'd let him. It was only through stubborn insistence that I was shown the way out; the well that led into my basement was connected to his domicile, though logic alone told me that there were many exits if he was using the sewer pipes for hunting

. I'd opened my mouth to ask how in the hell he planned for me to get up there, but he's scooped me into his arms as though I weighed no more than a feather and suddenly we'd spilled towards opening above us. In that moment, I could see the lights glowing behind his eyes all the more, and in that moment I could feel the strange, tingling sensation in my arm hum to life until I nearly cried with it -- it was completely alien to the rest of me, but it was slowly starting to seep its way into my thoughts, into my mind. It was integrating with my very existence, and settling into all of those empty places where my emotions should have resided.

If I'd ever been close to feeling fear before, it would have been for that. Something completely foreign was happening to me, and I had no way to understand it. Even Pennywise seemed intrigued and curious, which meant that he'd certainly never had it happen before.I could only assume that the newness of the situation had the biggest influence on the fact that I was still alive.

For some reason, the prospect of it all seemed to fascinate him, draw him closer to me. I wondered if he felt the same compelling feeling of being drawn to the light that was trapped inside of me as I'd felt to the ones that were behind his eyes. There wasn't a way to stop it, or control it.

There was simply the fact that it was. There was no going back to who I used to be.

Instead, I argued for the need to sleep in my own bed, and the knowldge that I still had to go out into town and look for a job. Money might have been a foreign concept to him, but I couldn't just scare my way into being able to afford my bills. Well, I wrote horror… but still…

Pennywise didn't find my humor in the phrase to be funny at all. I, personally, thought that I was hilarious.

I was lucky that it was Autumn in the little town of Derry; pulling on a leather jacket the next day before I went out into the chilly air wouldn't look at all suspicious. The dark gloves that I covered my hands with might confuse some people when I didn't take them off, but it was better than the alternative of them asking questions.

The only thing that really worried me was that the black in my arm was spreading upward still, so that I could see some of my veins that crept onto my shoulder darkening. The skin wasn't black, at least.

It turns out that job hunting in a town like Derry wasn't as hard as I had thought it would be. The grocery was looking for a bagger, the school was looking for an assistant teacher. However, my attention was drawn to the library. They needed librarians, and the thought of me getting to hang around books all day was more than enough to make a warm blush of happiness spread through me.

I filled out an application and left my cell number with the head staff, though I was worried that they were going to think twice about hiring me when they checked on where I lived. Of course, I could always hope that they'd take pity on the fact that I was the new person in town who had the misfortune of moving into the Haunted House.

My worries that it would come into play were completely unwarranted; I'd only just slipped into the coffee shop beside the library to duck out of a sudden rainstorm when my cellphone rang. They were interested. They wanted me to start as soon as I could. I actually walked back in the rain with a cup of coffee in hand to get the proper paperwork filled out so I could start any training I needed the next day.

It was almost too good to be true. The librarian seemed more than pleased to have an author working with them, and I was correct in detecting pity in her voice when she heard where I lived; she even offered to let me come into the library after hours, if I needed.

If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say that she hired me so quickly in an attempt to keep me out of my house as much as possible. It would have been funny, if I hadn't been starkly aware that the town clearly had a reason to fear the house after all. I couldn't really tell her that there wasn't anything to worry about, because I'd accidentally stolen the magical orange light out of the monster's head. I had the distinct feeling that she wouldn't quite understand.

She kept me in her office for as long as she could, and then insisted that I go ahead and take a tour of the library the same day. It was only when she was offering to get dinner with me that I had to throw my hands up. "I honestly need to be getting home. There's still stuff to unpack, you know? Besides, I'm not that hungry." It was a complete lie, of course. I just wanted to get back to my house. I didn't particularly enjoy being social -- it was part of the reason that the librarian job had appealed to me so much. The quiet whisper of books sounded much better than the hustle and bustle of working somewhere like a coffee shop or a grocery store. Still, the woman, Julianna, turned her eyes to me in pity, but acquiesced to my request.

"All right then, you be careful though, dear." And the concern in her voice sounded genuine.

Things would have been easier if I could have explained the situation to her. Of course, if I’d admitted that I was actually a little eager to get home to the murderer that lived beneath my house because of some weird broken light beneath my skin, she might have rescinded her job invitation.

The rainstorm hadn't let up when I stepped outside, and I uttered a curse low beneath my breath. I pulled the cloth hood up, glad that I'd bought a jacket that had one to begin with, but I knew that it wasn't going to do much in the way of keeping me dry for very long. I made a mental note to bring a damn umbrella with me next time I went out, and silently crossed my fingers for the fact that the weather wouldn't ruin my coat.

The water flooded into the storm drains, and I found my mind drifting to what Pennywise had said earlier; everything led to the sewers. He wasn't wrong — the grates lined every side of the street, catching the wet run off. Every house had a direct line to the sewers as well.

Everything was connected to Pennywise, whether the people of the town realized it or not. I had to wonder what they would do if they knew exactly where their fabled monster actually resided.

I knew, though, that I wasn't going to tell them. Perhaps it was the light, or maybe it was my own curiosity, but I wasn't going to do anything that might have him discovered and potentially taken out. I wasn't sure what would happen to me anyway, if something were to happen to Pennywise. It was instinct alone that told me the lights were connected, but that instinct was more than enough to convince me that keeping his secret was in my own best interest. I was careful to tell myself that it was the only reason for my silence.

Much to my chagrin, I was soaked by the time I got home. My hood had long since drenched through, and the excess water had streamed down my shoulders and back, stinging and burning against the blackened side of my body and making the rest of me shiver from the chill. I liked the rain, but I wasn't fond of feeling like I was going to catch my death walking home in it.Each stinging droplet against my darkened skin threatened to steal my breath away and drive me over some unseen edge.

A damn umbrella was definitely on the agenda, because I wasn't going to deal with this again.

I threw my jacket off, letting it fall over the back of the couch, and half stomped up the stairs. My shirt came off as soon as I kicked my office door open, and I dropped it into the corner, aware that I'd need to pick it up later. I made a point to not look at the black veins that had spread just a bit further up along my shoulder. Instead, I took a moment to dry my hands on the blanket that was strewn across the back of my chair, and then I booted my computer up.

I was most of the way through an Amazon order when I heard a voice directly in my ear, a soft purring growl that felt like silk spilling inside of my skull. "Did the storm blow you away?"

I should have been surprised, but I'd actually wondered when he was going to show up again. Instead of turning to acknowledge him, I finished clicking through the checkout page as I answered.

"Right into a damn storm drain, almost."

He burst into a fit of giggles, as though I'd said something that struck him as truly funny. My brows knit together as I clicked out of my browser, instead turning to look at him. "It wasn't that good, Pennywise."

"Blew the whole circus away." He giggled the words to himself again, and I couldn't help but to feel like I was on the outside of a very inside joke. Of course, anyone else who had been on the receiving end of it was probably no longer amongst the living. Shaking my head, I clicked on the folder sitting on my desktop, aware of the fact that I needed to get some writing done. Just because I'd secured a job, I couldn't allow myself to slack on what I was actually working towards making a career. Writing was easy, and it required a minimal amount of human interaction.

I would have been more than pleased to have the option of staying inside of my house whenever I wanted -- there were days when I simply didn't feel like faking my emotions more than I had to. My focus was a bit ragged, though, because I could sense Pennywise standing behind me. His breath was hot against my neck, and even though I wasn't watching him I could almost feel his eyes drifting across everything that I was doing. When I brought my hand up to run through my hair sopping, he caught hold of my fingers and I felt the warm, orange glow pouring through my body and chasing away the lingering chill of the rain.

"What do you know about fear, to be writing it?" The question was inquisitive, and even a bit taunting. I turned my gaze to him slowly, my eyes narrowing.

"I know enough to make money with it. That's about it." I wanted to be quippy, to tell him that I knew more than enough... but was there really a point in lying? To him of all creatures? For a few seconds, he stared at me fixedly, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. His eyes glanced to the screen and the words that I’d been working on, and his full lips turned up into a slow and malicious grin, saliva making them glisten in the glow of my computer screen.

"I could show you."

His words were an apple, and I suddenly felt like Eve.

My eyes shifted to his face, full and rapt attention caught in the swirl of orange that haloed around his blue eyes. I had to be sure of what he was offering, "What do you mean?"

"I could show you fear. I could show you how I hunt." He hissed the words out in a soft litany of temptation.

My eyes widened. I had a distinct vision of those little bodies floating above the circus cart in the sewer. When he said hunt, I knew what he meant. I wanted to be terrified -- I wanted to be repulsed, more than anything. But my arm was burning where he held it, the orange light beneath my skin flaring so bright that I was afraid for a moment that it might burst. It nearly stole my breath away, and somehow I found myself gasping out an answer that I hadn't even thought about.

"Yes." Reverence. Awe. Excitement. Emotions trilled through me that I hadn't been sure that I could feel before, and I knew that I could blame it on the light beneath my skin... but I didn't care.

I shouldn't have wanted to see this, but was it really that odd? I wrote about monsters for a living; I was finally going to get to see one in action, and having the prospect of that looming before me, I couldn't find the time to be disgusted by my excitement. I couldn’t find it in me to stop my hand from shifting so that my fingers interlocked with his long, slender digits as I breathed out the word again, “Yes, please.”

In the darkness of my room Pennywise’s eyes flared orange, like a flame that stoked the ember of the Deadlight trapped beneath my skin.

 

 


	6. Addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally have a taste of what you've been searching for all along, but at what price?  
> A penny for your soul. 
> 
> \--
> 
> You guys are amazing. Your comments and kudos and continual support really keeps me going strong with this! I hope you enjoy the chapter... and a small warning here. Gore. Gore, gore ahoy!

It was still raining when we went out â€” Pennywise led me back into the sewer through the well in my basement, though this time I had the sense to lower a rope down so that I would be able to climb in and out as I pleased, without the assistance of his fucking floating powers. I, at least, had the sense to pull on some rain boots and a jacket that was mostly water repellent. I added a raincoat to the list of things that I needed to buy, but my mind wasn't really on shopping; it was on the fact that I was following a monster into the sewers so that I could watch him commit murder.

It wasn't something that I'd ever really thought to experience, and there was at least a small part of me in the back of my mind that was worried that I was becoming a sociopath, because I wasn't really bothered by what was happening at all. I was intrigued, and I was anxiously waiting for us to start.   
  
The sewer was more flooded today than it had been when I'd last seen it -- the water runoff was washing all sorts of refuse through the pipes and tunnels, and Pennywise's sharp eyes were rapt with attention on each and every bit of debris. He looked at it as though it could tell him a story, paint him a map of the entire town above us. I wasn't sure exactly what his fiery gaze was searching for, but after some time, I knew that he'd found it. There was a moment of his body jerking to attention, the bells at his collar jingling over the sound of him taking in a deep and whuffing breath, like a dog picking up the scent of prey.

Maybe more like a wolf, if I thought about it.

I followed carefully behind him, though there was a part of me that realized he was probably walking along for my benefit alone. I'd see him do his little disappear and reappear act, so I had no doubt in my mind that he could have gone wherever he'd liked. I appreciated him dumbing it down.

We twisted through the sewers, and I knew that if I'd been left on my own, there would be no way that I could possibly find my way back. It was a damn labyrinth, and Pennywise navigated it as though he had a map to it ingrained on the back of his eyelids. I saw what he'd noticed in the water as we walked past in the dim light; a wrapper for a piece of gum. How that had triggered a response in him, I couldn't imagine... but he moved with the liquid grace of a great predator, and there was no way that I could mistake the fact that he was on the scent of something.

We spilled out of one of the giant drain pipes, and I found myself overtly thankful for my rainboots and coat. I pulled the hood of my jacket up, pleased that it was black and overly large, so that it hid my face. I didn't think that anyone was going to see us, but the last thing that I needed was everyone in the town associating me even more with their monster problem -- right now, it was only association resulting in pity. I didn't need it to turn into something more sinister.

We didn't have far to walk; by the edge of the treeline, I could see what Pennywise's eyes, glowing in the dark, were focused on. Two boys.

It took me a second to realize that it was the two boys who had told me that I was going to die in front of my house the other day. There was a very strange part of me that wanted to laugh at the fact that these were the ones that Pennywise had selected, but there was another part of me that almost felt as though he'd done it on purpose.

I opened my mouth to ask, but he turned to me before I'd even drawn the air into my lungs and he snarled with angry teeth and yellow eyes, moving close enough to me that I could feel the heat of his breath in his low utterance. In that moment, what he was couldnâ€™t have been more clear. He was a thing that wore a fine-tailored human suit; he could put on the costume, but he wasn't a man.

He was more animal than anything else, and his glowing eyes were so alien that it stole my breath away. I could see his teeth, ragged and sharp, bared so that spittle dripped down his chin.

He'd offered to let me come, but it seemed that he would tear me apart if I spoiled his hunt.

I made a show of closing my mouth, though I could feel my heart thundering in my chest, pulsing hard and fast. The tempo of the beat didn't originate from my ribcage though, but from my arm and the throbbing there, in my wrist. His eyes snapped to rapt attention at the glow behind my flesh that was so bright I was surprised it didnâ€™t give away our position. I watched a mixture of that same anger and something akin to lust flash through his eyes. I tucked my hand into my pocket and gestured him ahead; I knew that I couldn't allow the light to draw the children's attention. For a moment, he kept his eyes drawn to my hand, though it was hidden. I almost felt as though he could still see that glow, and I could certainly still feel that vicious pulse rocking through me and nearly making my teeth ache.

I was distracted from the throbbing, though, when Pennywise shifted his attention back to the two boys. There was a moment where I could almost feel energy charge the air, and my arm sent a complete scream of pain and want through my body... and then the clown in front of me dissolved and a great, hulking monster rose.

I could tell that it was some bastardized version of a werewolf, but it was more imposing than any creature that I'd ever seen on the television. It flickered its gaze to me and I saw those swimming, yellow-orange eyes -- one part of Pennywise clearly always stayed the same. There was a beat where we stared at one another, and where I could have sworn that I felt his hungry aching at the back of my tongue. After a few moments, however, his eyes tore away from mine and shifted to the children in front of us. I knew without a doubt that he looked like what they were afraid of, and I knew that if it had been other children, he might have taken on a different form. He'd explained it all to me, but to see it actually happening in person was something altogether different. I followed mutely behind him as he stalked forward, but when he burst into a sudden run and grabbed one of the boys at the scruff of the neck, I stopped moving.

There was a spray of blood and a terrified scream. The first boy had died inconsequently. It was the child with the glasses that seemed to be his real target. I could see it on his face - fear. Unadulterated, complete and utter terror. The child screamed again, and even though it was raining I was close enough that I could tell when he pissed his pants in rivulets of acrid fear.

Pennywise murred in delight, his chest rumbling in a fierce growl. The boy scrambled, his hands trying to find his bicycle behind him while his eyes -- as big as dinner plates -- couldn't tear themselves away from the wolf in front of him. He wanted to escape, but his horror seemed to root him to the spot.

There was nothing for it. The great wolf stalked forward with a muzzled stained crimson with blood, and his jaws opened wide. The boy looked around everywhere for a way out, scrambling back too late and slipping in the mud. It was only when he landed on the ground, hard enough to knock the air out of him, that he saw me.

His eyes widened. His hand stretched out.

"Help me!" He screamed the words, and I could hear the way that his voice broke, the way that he cried out. Something inside of me twisted; I was curious, but I wasn't a damn monster. I wasn't sure what I could do to help him, but I ran forward anyway, just as Pennywise brought his muzzle, filled with rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth, down on the boy's arm.

My hand stretched out for his, his fingers coated crimson like a red apple... and I realized a moment too late that I was reaching for him with my blackened digits.

Pennywise snapped his head to me, growling and baring teeth over his kill, but I was already rocking to my knees as soon as his small digits closed around mine.

All that I could smell was sweet copper. And all that I could feel was a complete foreign emotion -- it was something that I'd never experienced before, and something that I'd been trying to feel for my entire life. My fingers flexed, jerking him hard enough that I heard one of his digits snap out of socket. He wailed in high pitched horror, and I heard a near growl escape my throat.

Through my hand, I could feel his terror. Because of my hand, I was left wanting more.

It wasn't anything that I'd ever expected; his fear pulsed through me, and it tasted like cool spring water on the back of my tongue, chased by the copper of his blood that was spattered on his arm. I spilled forward before I could stop myself, yanking up at the same time so that my forehead pressed against his own and our breath intermingled at my proximity.

He couldn't have been older than sixteen.

With my head pressed there, I could smell the stink of sweat on his skin. I could see his eyes go wide... wide.... wide with horror.

And then I watched them fill with agonized pain as Pennywise dug his muzzle into the boy's belly.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was screaming for the fact that I'd wanted to help him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware that I'd crossed some line that I was never going to be able to take back.

But my eyes were flooded with the bright orange light that was spilling from my exposed fingers, and the unadulterated, delicious terror that was pulsing through me as I finally... finally felt fear for the first time.

It was the most intoxicating sensation that I've ever experienced in my life, and for a while, I lost myself to it completely. I didn't realize that I was lowering my head in time with Pennywise, I didn't realize that my mouth was coated in blood. My arm was shining so brightly that it was nearly blinding; my vision was consumed with wide eyes full of terror, though they'd long since gone dead.

All that I could feel was an endless hunger that had been momentarily sated, an addiction that I'd been spiraling towards my entire life now made to flesh. The world was copper and the acrid stink of fear, and it was a tantalizing bouquet of aroma that drove me to near madness.

It took me a while to come back to my senses, and when I did it was far too late for me to take back what had happened. I knew that I'd meant to help the boy when I'd first stepped forward... but there was no helping him now.

There was no doing much of anything for him. I could see that there were marks on his body that hadn't come from Pennywise at all -- worse, the nails on my blackened fingers had somehow elongated to sharp tips. It wasn't exactly claws, but it was damn near close enough that I couldn't help but to shudder at the sight of it. Somewhere in between everything that was happening, Pennywise had dragged the little body backward, so that we were hidden in the lip of the sewer tunnel. Now, there was hardly anything left of him to bring back, but it seemed as though the creature beside me, shifting once more from wolf to clown, had full intentions of saving every part of him.

His eyes weren't fixated on the remnants of the body held limply in his arms though. They were fixed on me, and they were glowing an orange so molted that it looked like magma.

"Not feeling so human anymore?" His voice was lilting, sing-song. Underneath that, however, there was a savage joy that made me shiver. He seemed so triumphant in the fact that I'd lost myself.

I felt a heavy sensation in my stomach, and I wasn't sure if it was remorse or something that I'd... eaten. My eyes twisted between the clown and the body once more time -- the body with very clear, very distinct human teeth marks. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I took a deep breath. Over his other shoulder, the young boy who'd died first hung just as limply. Two dead children. I wasn't going to vomit, but I sure as fuck was not going to stick around until the sight of his carnage-- no, our carnage, made me sick.

Worse, I could still feel the high of experiencing fear. I could taste it on the back of my tongue, and I knew that I was going to want to feel it again.

Pennywise said that I stole his deadlights, but as far as I was concerned, they'd infected me with something. I could finally say that I knew what fear felt like. I knew what it tasted like.

And it was addicting.

I turned on my heel without thinking and ran out of the sewer pipe. It was idiotic. I wasn't even sure where I was... and I knew I was going to be in trouble if someone saw me... but I couldn't stay there.

From behind me, I heard a mixture of laughter and a growl as Pennywise watched me go, with words sang out in that same cadence following me, "Never so human, after all. Much more like me... like me... with me."

\---

I wasn't sure how I made it back to my house, other than the fact that Derry wasn't such a large town that it was easy to get lost. I kept my hood pulled over my head, and found that the few cars that passed me seemed very uninterested in looking at my face. I kept my hands buried in my pockets, my head down.

I could almost feel it though, eyes staring at me every time I passed a sewer drain. It was like he was watching my every move now; we'd shared something dark and visceral.

_Not feeling so human now._

He wasn't wrong. I'd always wondered if I was going to end up psychotic one day from my inability to feel things the way that other people did. I'd never thought that it would drive me this far, though. I knew that it was the fault of the deadlight that I'd touched... the urges that had overwhelmed me weren't my own... but I couldn't completely blame it on that orange glow.

I'd been hungry for what fear felt like for as long as I could remember. The savage joy at finally experiencing it, the greedy way that I'd lapped it up and rolled in it had been all my own. Now that the feeling was fading away, I could already taste the emptiness that it left in its wakeâ€¦ and the desire to feel it again.

I was fucked.

I was fucked in the head.

I was fucked in the soul now, because I'd helped a monster kill a child. I couldn't erase that stain. It would be with me for the rest of my life.

It was only made worse by the fact that my stomach, twisting and nauseated though it was, was still filled with butterflies from the excitement of it. My heart was still thundering in a mixture of revulsion and joy.

I couldn't deny the fact that there'd been a part of me, not the deadlights, but me... that had enjoyed the startling wave of emotions that poured through me.

I really was a monster.

I couldn't think about it that way, though... there was something happening to me that I couldn't explain, something that even Pennywise seemed unsure of. The lights that made my fingers twist into vicious claws were clearing having an effect on me that was unprecedented. It was all too much though... too much to try to figure out.

Too much to process so soon after I had been so completely and utterly overwhelmed.

A wave of gratitude and exhaustion swept over me as soon as I got home. I meant to take a shower. I meant to completely cleanse myself of what had happened... but I didn't have the strength to. I only just managed to kick off my boots and shrug off my jacket before I collapsed into bed and the sweet darkness of a crimson-stained sleep sucked me down.

 


	7. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You left him, and he's not too happy about the fact that you never came back.
> 
> \--
> 
> Ho-crap guys! I'm sorry that this update took so long. I've recently started taking writing commissions again, so I got a little distracted. <3 I'm back now... so, enjoy your clown fuckary >:)

My mouth tasted like rust and my sheets were stained a dark, reddish brown when I woke up. For a second, I couldn't figure out why. I brought a hand up to brush at my lips, and small flakes of dried blood spilled from my skin onto my pillowcase.

Oh.

Oh.

Everything that had happened the night prior came flooding back to me, and I scrambled out of the bed and made it to the toilet before heaving. My body jerked with the motion of it, and I felt distressed at the fact that my vomit was tinged crimson with blood.

I’d really done it last night -- I'd helped in killing someone. I'd stood by while a little boy was being murdered... I'd helped...

Eat him.

My fingers were tingling, and I ripped my long sleeved shirt up and over my head to stare at my arm. The black veins had spread; my nails were still tipped like claws, and those dark lines marched up my shoulder and down my chest. They were winding their way towards my center, towards my heart. I didn't have to be a genius to know that whatever was happening, it wasn't exactly good. My skins was streaked red, but that wasn't from the deadlight.

It was from blood.

I yanked my pants off and quickly turned on the shower, hissing viciously under my breath as the cold water stung against my skin. After a few moments, it ran hot... and after a few minutes, the water stopped running red down the drain and turned clear. Just as easy as that, I'd washed away the evidence that I was a killer... though the claws were still there, and the hot water only furthered the stinging sensation that the dark skin was sending rippling through my body.

I had to wonder if there would be some kind of answer to what was happening to me anywhere. Had anyone researched this? Had anyone ever experienced anything like it?  
And honestly, was it such a terrible thing? I'd been living my entire life numb... and now...

Now I was feeling more than I'd ever thought possible.

I shut off the shower water, punching the dial hard enough that I felt it sting on my unmarred hand. My eyes drifted for a moment to the drain that graced the bottom of my shower, and I quickly shook my head. I wasn't sure how I felt about anything, so I wasn't going to go seeking out Pennywise.

Instead, I threw on my clothes and headed out of the house, figuring that it would be better to get to the library earlier than later, with how my mind was currently spinning.

* * *

  
I couldn't concentrate on my training. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't do anything other than to imagine over and over again what had happened the night prior. I was honestly lucky that the job was a no-brainer, or I would have gotten fired before I'd even really had a chance to start. I could tell that I was acting oddly by the fact that people were looking at me with strange expressions. I knew that they had no idea what had happened, because they weren't running away from me in horror.

It was a small comfort.

I'd worn gloves that completely covered my hand today, and when I was asked, I claimed that they were for therapy because of wrist issues. I was believed without much question, so that was a relief, at least. The people of this town seemed more than happy to remain in the dark about everything. It didn't bode well for me finding any type of answer, but I still started sifting through the shelves during my break. I wasn't sure what kind of title to look for. Having the hope that there would be a book labeled Killer Clown-Aliens and How to Deal With Them seemed too much to hope for. Wandering to their paranormal section was the best that I could do, given the circumstances. The fifteen minutes that I was afforded before my shift started again wasn't enough to find more than a few ghost stories, and a list of all of the supernatural sightings that had happened in the town throughout the years. That one I stuck in my backpack while no one was looking.

Stealing on the first day of the job. It was brilliant, really.

I kept expecting Pennywise to show up; I could almost feel my arms twitching anticipation for his arrival. The part of him that had found a home in me was getting anxious while waiting for him, and it was distracting enough that I almost cataloged the stack of books that I was working on incorrectly. My eyes kept sweeping around the library, though I wasn't sure as to exactly where he would show from, if he were to show at all.

I wasn't sure if I wanted him to.

I was more confused than I had a right to be, especially with what had happened the night before. What was truly odd though was that no one was really talking about it. If two boys, even teenagers, ha gone missing in the town where I'd lived before, it would have been all over the news. People would have been muttering about it to one another in the still quiet, too afraid to utter their worst fears aloud.

Here, people kept moving as though it was normal happenstance.

Here, they kept on going, as though they almost expected such terrible things to transpire.

The day wore on slowly, and no crimson eyed creature, clown, wolf or otherwise, showed up at the library. When my shift ended, I pulled my coat on and careuflly made my way out.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to go home. I'd been half anticipating his presence all day, and now that I knew that there was a distinct possibility that I could see him, I still wasn't sure if I wanted to. Instead, I took a left and went to the grocery store. I shopped aimlessly, not really sure if I needed anything. The thought of eating just brought up memories of what I'd done the night prior and made my stomach roll. It wasn't just from revulsion; I was hungry, and I knew that it wasn't just for food.

Already, I was missing the sensation of fear, sweet on my tongue. I was missing the way that it had filled parts of me that had always felt empty.

I didn't want to go home from that longing alone. That, and the fact that my fingers were twitching anxiously of their own accord, and I could almost feel that black running through my veins forcing my stomach to growl in hunger.

I snatched a few meals from the freezer section and paid before stalking out of the store. I was finally feeling aversion to something, and it was idiotic, because it was to the exact thing that I'd wanted all along.

I wasn't going to do this; one good thing about spending so much of my life not caring was that it was easy to switch off the emotions. I forced myself to walk home through the still slightly damp streets, and simply wrenched my eyes away from the MISSING posters that had been hung up alongside dozens of others.  
I recognized the faces, but when I looked at them, all that I could see were eyes wide with delicious terror.

Instead, I focused on making sure that I didn't step into any leftover mud puddles and trudged my way home.

* * *

  
The house was seemingly empty when I got there, and I was beginning to wonder silently to myself if Pennywise was angry that I'd stalked off the other night. Of course, after watching him eat a child, I wasn't sure if he'd simply stay away if he was actually angry with me. I put the food that I'd bought away and punched on the oven without putting much thought into it leaving the meal out on the counter.

Lasagna.

What a morbid choice.

I was just pulling the pan out of the oven when I heard a noise behind me. I whirled quickly, and sure enough... Pennywise was standing in the corner of the room, his eyes a crystalline blue as he stared at me. I knew this wasn’t a perfectly friendly visit though, because they flared and sparked orange for a moment when he spoke.

"You never came back."

I might have been completely daft, but I could have sworn that there was a hint of betrayal in his voice. But then he was stepping towards me, one hand swinging forward at a time, and his eyes growing more and more crimson with each advance. By the time that he was in front of me, they were a red glow, and his voice was a velvet wrapped cotton candy growl that played havoc with my skull. "You should have come back."

And there it was. I could sense his possessiveness pouring off of him in damn near palpable waves. His full lips were pulled back in a snarl, those usually charming teeth sharp points in his anger. We'd done something together last night that had tied us to one another, though that had already happened with the deadlight. Killing the boy though...

Pennywise sharing that kill...

It had been something to him; something big and meaningful. I'd broken the pattern of that big something by running away.

It seemed as though he was contemplating ways to punish me, which left me holding my lasagna while staring at him with wide and wary eyes; I'd seen what he was capable of. I knew exactly what those sharp teeth could do... and though I was a thrill seeker, I didn't have a death wish. I started to take a step back and a low, vicious snarl escaped his lips — I could see it in his eyes. He was predatory and a creature of instinct, and right now it seemed that all of his instincts were telling him that I had betrayed him and I deserved to know his wrath.

I knew, though, that there was another basic instinct that was triggered on the same primal level as anger.

I let the lasagna platter fall from my hands without bothering to move so I could put it down, and I moved forward with a liquid grace that I didn't know I had. I was following my instincts, though I had a feeling that it was more a whispering in my head from my arm that was glowing a bright orange in damn near self-defense. The Deadlight knew what to do to stop him from gutting me out of sheer fury.

I just couldn't believe that I was following through with it. There were still flecks of blood on his face from last night, and his lips were wet with spittle from his growl.  
But they were full, and when I pressed my mouth against his own, the coppery tinge of his warm kiss was enough to make something inside of me melt and dissolve like cotton candy gone wet. The glow on my arm intensified, and it came up of its own accord to wrap around his waist. I meant to pull him closer, but he was slamming us both back before I had a chance; he was like an animal, and he growled against my lips before his tongue invaded my mouth and licked hungrily, as though he meant to touch every spot inside of me that he could to lay claim to it.

His hands were claws, and they gripped me so tightly that I could feel my skin breaking at their pointed tips. I could only just return the favor with my blackened, sharp fingertips. My own claws easily tore through his silken costume like paper and gave me access to break the flesh of his pale skin beneath..

I closed my eyes to the kiss, but it didn't matter. I could see lights dancing behind my lids: two whole, one fractured... but that fractured one pulsed the brightest. Even with my eyes closed, I could see that my own light was pulsing in time with it. My eyes ripped open when that light came even closer to my face - the veins that had crawled up my shoulder were spilling to my neck, careening towards my mouth. I jerked back quickly, and his sharp teeth shredded my lower lip so that my mouth filled with the taste of my own blood.

His lips were painted with it, giving him the look of a clown all the more. It would have been humorous, but his pupils were dilated pits of black, and there was a look on his face that had nothing to do with fury, but everything to do with the same animalistic urges that spurned that anger on.

I knew that I'd instigated this... but it was better than him ripping me apart from the inside out, wasn't it?

The low growl the pooled from his throat made me unsure. I swallowed hard, my hands twitching and convulsing. The blackened fingertips stayed clinging to his frame, but my other hand shot back to grip the counter, as though I was looking for something solid to hold me in place. I wasn't sure how to proceed. A part of my brain was telling me to wrap my arms around him again -- another part was telling me that running away was probably a good idea. I wasn't sure that I wanted to get fucked by a clown.  
He wasn't even a man, after all. The look in his eyes that were like liquid fire rings around a black pit told me that there was nothing human about him. It made my stomach twist in revulsion. It made something lower twitch in excitement. My mind was a cacophony of confusion, but Pennywise didn't have the patience to let me sort it out. His hand caught my throat and he lifted me off of the ground that way, spinning me around in a quick motion and dropping me onto the table -- I was glad that I'd at least had the fortune to order a heavy, thick frame so it didn't break beneath my weight. I opened my mouth to protest his treatment of me, but I didn't have the chance. His pout crushed against mine again, his sharp teeth catching my lower lip intentionally this time and biting against it hard enough to draw blood. I moaned into his mouth, almost against my will -- I'd fucked before, but it had been nothing like this.

It, like everything else, had been a thing that I'd done because I was supposed to do it. I felt almost apathetic -- there had been no excitement, no strong emotion. It hadn't meant anything.

This was different though -- maybe it was because it was edged with the fact that Pennywise's teeth were viciously sharp, or the fact that my mind was echoing with the memory of the fear that I'd felt last night. Maybe it was attempting to summon up that emotion so that I could feel it myself -- some kind of survival instinct. Or maybe it was simply the fact that Pennywise's coppery sweet kiss was waking up that hunger in me again... the hunger that I hadn't meant to feel to begin with.

The hunger that made something in my blood sing, and something in my mind click into place for the first time.

When he surged forward, forcing my legs apart and letting his claws tear at the jeans that I wore, I didn't resist him. I was falling deeper into the spiral of the memories of that fear, and drowning in the orange light that my body was letting off in response to his own. And just like before… I wanted _more._

 


End file.
